the poet’s day off

today i take refuge in the mundane
the ordinary and prosaic 
laundry beckons like an old friend
or, a cup of hot black coffee on my desk

for lunch, i eat goat cheese with sliced cucumber sprinkled with lots of black pepper and a dash of cayenne a drizzle of honey dried parsley flakes and chopped walnuts... between two slices of whole wheat bread, with a glass of tap water
really
you should try it

today, every single one of my electronic gadgets work without mishap while
crystals and sage bundles 
gather the dust
the vacuum cleaner is no dance partner today, nor
hungry ghost
and the gods are silent 
and clocks steer clear of double digit numbers

flowers are just pretty flowers, and 
rocks are, well.... rocks

i welcome the air, slightly matte and thick
like a fleece blanket somehow comforting in its stillness

today i take a shower, trim my nails—no polish—rub cream into my face and go to bed before the stroke of midnight, and do not dream
for just today
i am twinkled out, and grounded.

tomorrow, i shall fly
again

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